New Year... once again

So, it's 1st Jan once more. This time for 2014. And again we are all geared up to start afresh. For a "newer and better" version of life. With the same old set of people, the same old flaws and failures all around.

A time for resolutions.

Indeed.

This has never failed to stun me. Never. Just a change of a date on the calendar... and our hearts learn to hope. Again. And again. Miraculous, indeed.

Happy New Year...
Let's start all over again...

Mahalaya - the reminiscence of childhood. Forever. The fond memories of those who are not with us anymore. A strengthening of the bond with those who are (blessedly) still there. And a very special prayer to welcome a very special person in my life.

Mahalaya on Youtube (at a customized time of 7:30 am). Missing Kolkata ever so much. Still, the thrill of Pujo is a gripping sensation. Looking forward to a Pujo which is very special in all its difference this year.

The 3rd Milestone - for 10th May 2012

With a series of simple joys & simpler sorrows... and the occasional splurges of ecstatic happiness… we arrived at the third milestone !

The Rhythm of a New Life

On the 5th of May 2012, just 5 days shy of our third marriage anniversary, we heard you for the first time ever! The sound of your life... beating on, loud and steady. And our heartbeats blended with its new rhythm.


With a silent prayer, I welcome you to my life. To my world. 
Like a dream of the brightest firefly I'll ever chase...

Somehow my whole world has suddenly shifted.

For a Dream

And a Dream of a Dream...

Bukowski. Exposing the raw nerve-end.
Bukowski. Gouging at his own wounds.

Bukowski. So honest you can't read him on all days.

" You will be alone with the gods and the nights will flame the fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter".

Alberto Manguel. I love you still. All your words.

" Maybe this is why we read... to find words for what we already know"

The End ?

“It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write the last words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by which my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes was distinguished”… and thus, many a years back, I had been initiated into the gripping intricacies of The Final Problem. Imagine my shock when I rushed to watch the movie-version of Sherlock Holmes… and a seemingly half-witted, cantankerous chap plunged into the scene and blurted out “My name is… Sherlock Holmes”.

I jerked upright on my seat, trying to ascertain the situation. In whose imagination was this character conceived? Certainly not in Mr. Doyle’s… and hopefully not in any of us who have grown up being in awe of the great Mind. So, is this the “coming of age” of Sherlock Holmes? Our gift to a generation who prefers the easy appeal of motion picture over that of the printed words? And is that really Watson razzing with Holmes quite like that?

Now don’t blame me for comparing. If they make movies from our favourite novels, if they insist on putting faces to the characters we have always loved, then I will compare. And what right do they have to spoil my world my thrusting on me a whacko Mycroft, with an out-of-context obesity and a distasteful desire to roam about naked? That had not only ruined Mycroft for me, but also affected my visions of Sidhhu Jetha in Feluda. Somehow everything just seemed so out-of-context.

20 mins through the plot, I preferred to drift off to a blissful state of mental blankness. There's too much of Slow-Mo future fore-telling, too much of fights, for my taste. And I so missed my favourite hero who sits in his dressing gown, smoking his pipe and churning his ideas. This infinitely-more-Hollywood version prefers to smoke the cigar.

But, as it always happened in the world of Mysteries, the plot gripped me irrationally… and as the plot reached its prime, I granted the movie a second chance. Or, as Downey says, I just followed his lead! And slowly I found myself being waltzed into a world where everything looked and felt wrong, yet something quite interesting was controlling the drift. I don’t quite know when I shifted grounds and started enjoying this fanciful version of Holmes… but I found myself laughing out loud in most of the plot junctions. And how did they work out this electrifying rapport between the lead characters? The "very intimate relations" between Sherlock and Watson had somehow blended itself into this questionable-yet-enthralling bromance.

So… in an attempt to sum up, I would give the movie credit for making explicit all those aspects of the story which has always been left implicit by Mr. Doyle. The mind had played with them… on and on… and now you get the glamourized pronouncement of the same. Yet, somehow, I criticize the movie for just the same… for making us lose the subtle pleasure of it all, for damaging the imagination... ’Cause no matter how delicious the platter is to the eye, the imagination can always cook up something far better. But I do give the movie credit for the nurturing the right rhythm between Downey and Law.

So, I would rather not rate a movie like "A Game of Shadows". There are too many grey areas. And then there's Jude Law.  But, given a chance, I would probably watch the first part of this sequel… maybe just for Law and Downey. So, maybe... it's not quite 'The End' yet?

Let's Start Believing Again...

... let's hope to try a little harder & put in a little more effort... let's hope to believe, once more... let's hope for a world devoid of sarcasm... let's hope...

There is something about Dickens that leaves me spellbound.
There is something about Austen that frames my thoughts.
There is something about Lewis Carroll that makes me wonder, what would I have done with my life if I didn't grow up with Alice inside me? If I didn't know how to believe at least six impossible things before breakfast?
There is something about Hardy. Bernard Shaw. Lawrence. Oscar Wilde. Bronte sisters. Maugham.
There is something about growing up with all of them, just as much as growing up with your family.
There is something about classics which steal your dreams. And create your own version of reality.

I have a Dream - ABBA

" I have a Dream, a song to sing
To help me through anything
If you see the wonder of a fairytale
You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I cross the stream - I have a dream... "

Soaring high...

Ever since I can remember, I have been mesmerized by Balloons...
I remember staring at the balloon-man in awe, extremely jealous of his good fortune, as he arranged bunches of balloons together. On days when I went with Ma and Baba to buy balloons, I was a super-happy kid! The entire event was a thrill for me. I simply adored those huge round balloons... floating on the sky, always so high-n'-mighty!
Choosing one for myself was a challenging task. Which one should I settle for? There was the Yellow Balloon - bright as the Sunshine, glowing in its beauty. There was the Blue Balloon - clear like the summer sky. And ofcourse, there was the Red Balloon - flying majestically on top of the bunch. So many colours, so many balloons... such a treat it was!

** ** ** ** **

But hey, what have they done to my Balloons? Have they all gone and gotten modern, too?? The shapes, the texture, the simplicity of solid colours... everything has changed. First, some whacky business man came up with the idea of 'Heart-shaped' Balloons... and killed the whole fun. Balloons suddenly became quite "Adult" and very "Valentine"-ish! And now we have the 'High Quality' balloons in shapes of Barbie or Tiger or Spiderman... I dont even know if you can actually blow them up. They look so ready-made! And the vendor said these balloons won't burst!

Why Would You Want a Balloon that won't Burst? We managed so well all our childhood... with Balloons that did burst! Imagine a Balloon that looks like anything but a Balloon?!?! And costs you 150 bucks!

I feel pity for the children these days... Would love to give them back the simplicity of big round Balloons... ones that even looked and acted like what it actually was... A Balloon!

That's my home...

...Where The Red Rose Is Mine,

And The Vanilla Clouds Too...

Finally... "Of Wild Colours, Mindless Madness and Splashing Words"... and all that has ever been ME!

I never knew it was possible to have such a Muddled-Up Brain and to indulge in such Random & Mindless Madness...
... or to eagerly crave for the Daisies...
... or to simply love the Wild Colors and the Splashing Words to distraction...

I never knew...
... till one fine day I met Myself

Rumblings of an erratic soul

He was to meet me right there. The narrow street opened up to the wide expansion of a market place. Crowd thronged every alley even as the cars honked on relentlessly. I took my place by the floral stand and shaded myself against the glare of the mid-day sun. My eyes searched for him...

Years back, I remembered a fine winter morning... and I remembered the thrill of waking up to a Dream. Ever since, within my soul, I continued living it. Each year, I grew up... inch by inch... closer to my dream.

The haunting memories jerked to a loss as my eager eyes settled on a known figure. Across the curve of the lane, I spotted him... right where the sky stooped to touch the earth. Down the road, a string of loaded carts seem to bind us together in a timeless bond. And I knew he found me just when I found him...

For us it has been years. We fell in love with each other long before we met... decades before we even existed. And then, we loved the waves together... ... ...

In the scorching heat of the day, his hand met mine. Together we moved on... across the street, amidst the market crowd, against the blaring sun.

As he walked by my side, I searched on... for him, always for him. I searched frantically through the crowd... looked at every passing car, across every corner, down all the roads that ever were. His hand guided me silently. With the sun & the sounds, and a bunch of urgent hopes, he led my search. For him... always for him.

... Closer to the dream we moved... inch by inch, inch by inch...

Crashing Colors...

Of Reds and Greens... and the Changing Times.
A time when the Religion of the Red makes way for the strangeness of Green...

The Red have kept us 'Green'... for a long, long time. We hope the advent of the Green does not flood our land 'Red'!

A new stage is set.
The Green takes the Vow, as an era comes to a screeching break.

We bow out...
But, we will be watching you...

Never ever...

Never ever let your sense of Morality come in the way of doing what is Right!

... Happily Single...

The days when we loved every minute of the uncannily similar coke-n'-chips evenings, day after day. And we rushed down the roads to reach home before we're 'scandalizingly' late!
We walked, we talked... and we walked-the-talk... endlessly and effortlessly. Year after year.

Bangalore. Rejoining and rejoicing in "Life". The occasional barbeque-evenings (complete with green pudina chatney)... staying awake till the wee hours of the morning... climbing over the fences to reach home after a midnight movie...
Kolkata. I can still hear the echoes of our laughter ringing through the streets. And our endless fights. And the pointless tears.

The just-out-of-school days syndrome (which lasted more than 10 yrs after school)... The days when we flirted just for the sake of flirting... teased each other over non-existent crushes... hated each other... loved each other... watched each others' backs all the time...
The days when 11 pm was NOT bedtime. It was time to start connecting with friends (to give and receive a synopsis of the day)... with colleagues (to discuss office and plan the next day). Our day properly unfolded after 11. (And yes, we did have office the next day!)

All those years we've spent reflecting on the past, wondering about the future... trying to figure out life & its complications...
We've been scrutinized by the not-so-single women. We, at times, have scrutinized those women. Wanted to know what it's like to be in their shoes. Waited for our prince charming to come & sweep us off our feet! And still wanted to retain our independence.

The days when we were single, footloose & fancyfree!

Feeling Grey :(

Do you ever wake up hoping something wonderful would happen to you? Hoping you can smile through the day without the hint of doubt? Hoping that the day will finally take you closer to the dreams you've always had?

I do. I woke up this morning with a hope. A hope of something delightful and joyous... bright and vibrant.
And then... even before I could take a grip on the day... Life poured a can of grey over it all.

So I stumbled and fumbled... and retraced my steps faultingly back to my cocoon. To my dreamlike state of quassi-existence.

Only to start a newer dream. Of a newer day...

Love them simply!

Those simple things of life that make my day...

- Getting long mails or long calls from the ones who matter... (the one-liner scraps are a poor substitute) .

- CHOCOLATES. Chocolate pastry, cholocate ice-cream, all varieties of chocolate biscuits, double chocolate fudge cake, chocolate sauce, choco-shakes. Even choco-flavoured lip-gloss. (yeah, they do exist!)

- Going to bed knowing that i don't have to wake up early the next morning.

- That wonderful blend of a little sunshine interspersed with a little rain.

- The colour Purple. With its related shades of Violet and Mauve! A splash of purple (in vision or in thoughts) brighten my day.

- Going through old photographs and old mails. My dormant rediffmail account is my personal attic. I do try to clean it up at times... but then, there are too many memories.

- Coming across a well-formed string of words (a line or a paragraph)... and churning it over n' over in my mind... till I blend my life in those few words. I guess it's a lot like the way a song haunts you for days. For me, it has always been the words.

- Storms. They inspire dreams. And transport me to the Enid Blyton days of Adventures and Lighthouses.

- The First Rain in Summer. And the dreamy  romanticism my mind invariably associates with it.

- Bourborne biscuits with hot coffee.

- Gifts. Wrapped with bright n' glossy papers. With a bow on top. And stickers. Gone are the days of 'brown paper packages'. Today, the packaging matters the most. What's inside is of lesser significance to me.
(This packaging passion is only applicable to material gifts)

- Sandwiches (in any form and content) for Breakfast. With fruit-juice. Or for lunch. And/or Dinner. I can live on them. Happily.

- Knowing I have friends whom I can wake up even in the middle of the night just 'cause I feel like talking to them.

- A good conversation. With someone who talks well and listens well. To what I mean... not merely what I say. (And who knows me well enough not be presumptuous!)

- Waking up and immediately getting back to the book I was reading the last night. Infact, I love waking up to the warmth of an unfinished book.

- Gliding out of sleep at the dead of the night just to watch him sleep peacefully beside me. It's what I love doing bestest. I actually set my alarm clock (in vibration, ofcourse ! ) to wake me up at an uncanny hour... just for those few moments of serene bliss... till I drift back to sleep again. It makes my day... and it makes my life.

... And The Dark Rain

The rainy nights. Once again!

Yeah, it rained incessantly here in Delhi. For no apparent reason whatsoever. And the nights grew gloomy again... with that unwanted chill in the air... and the neighbourhood sunk into the depths of an eerie silence.

Don’t get me wrong. I have absolutely nothing against the Monsoon. Years back, we had forgotten our differences and had formed a promising new friendship... Me and The Rain. And we still hold strong. And that's just the problem.

The drizzle of the Rain brings forth a rush of old memories. Rain-washed Kolkata. The challenge of taking on the waterlogged streets on high heels. My ecstasy over the 'First Rain in Summer' each year. The dream of a rainbow. Cuddling up with an Enid Blyton in a corner of my bed while it rained a bit, blew a bit, shone a bit... and the weather couldn't seem to make up its mind till it was too late for others to make up their's.

The pittar-patter of the raindrops bring with it the aroma of 'Home'. Of Kolkata. Of plans made and plans spoiled. Of friends and fun. Of my bed back home, with lots of pillows all around me. Of silly dreams, worries and excitements... most of which my present life fail to relate to. Of Ma and Baba... and a younger (and much wiser) version of Me in the warmth of my 'COMFORT ZONE'.

So, back to the Present... on a rainy night, at our home in Delhi... in a room which I now call my own... I lay wide awake. Trying to ignore a burden of memories and to wipe off a shower of irrelevant thoughts.

... And maybe I had dozed off for a while, coz I woke up to be Happy again. Joyful with newer dreams. Blissful with newer expectations. With a guy I didnt even know last Monsoon. A guy for whom right now I believe I can lay down a thousand monsoons of my life.

So bring on the Rain and bring on the Thunder... but I was happy again. Back to my natural sunny disposition at the middle of a dead night.

And as I came to terms with life once more, I hastened to clarify, to explain it all to the Rain. And thus to regain our lost bond... once again! The Rain and I...